Quite the Pair
by nickinick94
Summary: Just a little series of one-shots consisting of major events in their lives and Scott/Stiles fluff. This Pre-Season 1. Let me know what you think!


**Hey guys! It's been a while. I've got a **_**ton**_** of story ideas I'm working on for a bunch of stuff, and a new teen wolf fic I'm planning on uploading soon. (not this one :P) As of right now, though, enjoy this one!**

**Quite the Pair**

Scott and Stiles were brothers. That much was common knowledge. No, they weren't actually blood related, but best friends just didn't seem accurate enough.

It started in preschool, when Scott has gotten picked on by an older kid for being a "dirty little Mexican". Stiles doesn't remember much of it, except for the fact that he was so _mad_. Who cared what Scott was? He still just another five year old in Stiles' class. And the other kid was, like, seven. That wasn't fair!

The next thing Stiles knew, Chris Thompson was crying with his nose bleeding and Scott was looking at him with a mix of fear and admiration.

Stiles smiled at the nervous toddler. "Hi, I'm Stiles!" He proudly announced (Although his name came out more like "Thileth" because he just lost his two front teeth).

"'M Scott," the other boy replied shyly.

Stiles beamed at his ability to get the other boy to talk to him. No one normally talks or plays with Stiles because they usually found him annoying.

"Well, Scottie," Stiles began (Scottie coming out like "thottie" in his gap-toothed mouth), "we are going to be bestest friends now!" He exclaimed, grabbing his new friends wrist and prattling off a list of fun things they were going to do together while heading toward the swings.

He was cut off by Miss Angie. "Stiles Stilinski!" She scolded. "Did you punch Chris Thompson in the nose?" She asked, a stern look on her face.

Stiles made his face a mask of innocence. "I don't know. He might have just ran into a pole while he was bullying Scott," he answered. "Scottie doesn't deserve to bullied just because of his race," he said sadly, pulling a stunned Scott into his arms.

Miss Angie's face softened. "Alright," she conceded. "But I'm moving your card to yellow, okay?" She said, waiting for a nod before walking off.

Stiles smiled. A yellow card didn't mean anything to him. His dad was used to it by now. Plus, he'll introduce Scott to his dad before his dad can ask questions. Then he can't get mad!

He continued in the direction of the swings, pulling his new (only) best friend along when he heard a quiet "Thank you, Stiles."

And thus the Dynamic Duo was born.

_~qtp~_

Stiles was there for Scott"s first asthma attack.

They were eight, and were running around on the playground after school. It was just a simple game of tag. Stiles still doesn't know how it went wrong so quickly.

Scott was it, and Stiles was running away as fast as his legs could take him. In a game of two person tag, the initial dash to get away was the most important.

Stiles looked behind him to see where Scott was, and stopped in confusion. He wasn't running behind him, but where was he?

He looked back around the climbing dome he'd just run around, and found Scott on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

"Scottie?" Stiles asked, fear coloring his voice. He knelt down next to his friend and put a hand on his back. "Are you okay?"

Scott shook his head, the fear in his eyes made Stiles cold. "Ca – can't – breathe," he gasped. Tears started leaking down his face.

Stiles looked around in panic. Where was a teacher? "I'll be right back, Scottie, okay? Just – I'll be back," he said, and ran off at full speed.

Their teacher, Mrs. Cherry, was over by the double doors to the school with the other teachers. They seemed nervous when Stiles ran up to them – he had quite the reputation.

"Mrs. Cherry, help! Scott can breathe!" He exclaimed, grabbing her hand and leading her to where Scott was. She ran next to him.

Stiles heard her gasp when she saw Scott, and he felt some tears run down his face. Scott looked worse than he had a minute ago. He was curled up on the ground, face white and lips turning blue. Stiles was truly terrified.

She dropped to her knees next to Scott and made him sit up, supporting soldiers and trying to get him to take deep breaths.

"Go get the nurse and tell one of the other teachers to call an ambulance," she ordered Stiles. When he didn't move, she grabbed his chin and made him look away from Scott. "Stiles. If you want to help Scott, you have to get the nurse and tell a teacher to call an ambulance. Now go!" And Stiles took off running.

It was a scary few minutes. When Stiles got back to Scott with the nurse, Scott sounded like he was breathing through a straw, and ambulance was only seconds out. He could hear the sirens already as they turned into the school.

When the paramedics got there, they put Scott on a stretcher and put an oxygen mask over his face. They tried to make Stiles stay, but he refused to be left at school without his best friend.

"We can't bring an unsupervised kid and leave him in the waiting room. It's dangerous," one of the paramedics argued.

Mrs. Cherry came to Stiles' rescue. "Scott's mom works at the hospital. I'll call ahead and she'll be waiting for you when you walk in. Okay?" She asked. She knew the more time they wasted the more danger Scott was in.

The paramedic nodded, obviously having the same thought. "Alright, we don't have time for this anyway. Come on, kid," he said, lifting Stiles up to put him in the back of the ambulance.

The ride was a blur, and just as Mrs. Cherry had promised, Melissa McCall was waiting anxiously for them at the entrance. She took Stiles into her arms and hugged him. The wait to see Scott was excruciating for them both.

When they were finally called back, Scott was lying on a hospital bed with another mask on his face. He looked tired and small in the oversized bed. Stiles climbed in next to him. Mrs. McCall played with their hair.

Dr. Martinez said it was asthma. He prescribed some medicine to be taken every morning, night, and whenever Scott found it hard to breathe. And Stiles was still scared. That meant this could happen again.

And it did. It happened again, and again, and again. But almost every time, Scott had his inhaler. Even when he didn't, Stiles was there to help.

_~qtp~_

Scott was there when Stiles' mom died. And, subsequently, his first panic attack.

Stiles had been at the hospital for the last three days, and Scott had been next to him most of the time. Melissa and John, Stiles' dad, had long since given up on making them separate. The way Melissa viewed it, she was at the hospital working anyway, and she knew Stiles was being taken care of. The way John viewed it, Claudia had loved both the boys like sons, and he didn't want Stiles to have to go through this alone.

Five days ago, everything had been almost normal. Claudia had been having hallucinations, yes, but with medication she had been okay. Not fine, but okay. And then she'd woken up and had thought Stiles was a monster coming to get her a John was the devil coming to make her his.

Of course, Stiles hadn't understood what she was saying. All he understood was his mom yelling about monsters and devils and where were the angels? and clawing at her own face. They hadn't even been able to bring her to the hospital themselves.

Since then, Stiles and Scott had been sleeping in the waiting room chairs, there not being enough room in Claudia's room for them and the Sheriff. And John hadn't wanted Stiles in the room anyway. He didn't want his ten year old boy to have to hear his mother screaming and clawing at everything in her reach. John didn't even stay in the room. He slept with the boys in the waiting room.

They knew what was going to happen on the third day of the hospital. Claudia had woken up, fully lucid, and asked where Stiles and John were. When John said Stiles could go see his mom now, Scott held him tighter and Stiles stiffened. They both knew the lucidity was not Claudia miraculously overcoming the illness of her brain. It was not a sign of improvement. Not even ten year olds were that deluded.

When Stiles walked in, it was his mother he was talking to. Not the crazy person he had come to know over the past few weeks. His dad was sitting next to her holding her hand. She hugged him, told him she loved him, and proceeded to tell him his favorite stories from memory. Not fairytales, but memories. How she had John met, some of their crazy adventures, how Stiles got his horrible name (that she still loved), when Stiles brought Scott home with him for the first time. Then, she started talking about angels. How even when the people you love aren't on this earth, they are always next to you. Then, she kissed the top of his head, kissed her husband as if she'd never see him again, and drifted off to sleep.

She never woke up.

Stiles sat there and watched has her chest stopped rising and falling. Heard the heart monitor make that horrifying droning _beeeep_. And heard the blood rush to his ears.

He didn't even feel the tears on his face. Or hear his father's panicked voice. Didn't feel the arms wrapped around him.

He never found out why Scott came in bringing Melissa with him – how he _knew_ – but he doesn't care why. The soothing voice of his best friend, of his dad, of his adoptive mother, the feel of their arms around him, grounded him. Made him feel less like he was floating in the ocean without a raft and no land or ship in sight. It made him feel more like Stiles.

At the time, he didn't know what a panic attack even _was_. Didn't know he was prone to get them. But Scott helped every time he was with him. He made sure Stiles could breathe. Just like Stiles made sure Scott could breathe. They looked out for each other.

Their parents said they were quite the pair.

_~qtp~_

Stiles was there when Scott's dad walked out.

Not physically, not the whole time, but by the time they were eleven they has spent so much time together it's like they were the same person.

Afterwards, Scott didn't need to explain much. Stiles just kind of _knew_.

Melissa knew her husband's job was stressful, but it was becoming difficult for her to handle. He hadn't lain a hand on them so far, but she'd seen these cases before.

It was the third time this week he'd come home late and reeking of alcohol. When she tried to talk to him about it, he'd gotten angry.

She had never been more scared of Raphael McCall than right then.

Scott suddenly came out of his room, his wide eyes drinking in the situation. His dad drunk and hovering over his mom, who had her back against the wall. "Dad?" He called fearfully.

Raphael turned toward his son. "Not now, Scott. Mom and Dad are talking," he calmly stated.

"But–"

This was the wrong thing to do.

Raphael reached toward his son to shove him back into his room, but in his drunken rage his aim was off. Instead of being pushed to safety, Scott suddenly found himself free falling through the air. And then met the jagged ground below him.

Melissa was stunned, unable to move as she watched her baby boy tumble backwards down a flight of hardwood stairs. He hit the bottom with a solid _thump_, and didn't move.

She had yet to register the tears flowing down her cheeks. All she wanted to know was if her baby was okay.

She flew down the stairs and knelt next to Scott. Her trained fingers carefully searched Scott for blood, broken bones, any injuries of any kind.

Raphael came and sat next to her.

"Get out," she growled. She wasn't thinking. All she knew what that her boy was out cold, probably concussed, and it felt like he had a broken arm, collarbone, and a few cracked ribs, and she wanted the culprit out of the house. _Now_.

"Mel–"

"Get out!" She screamed, gathering Scott into her arms. She knew she had to get him to the hospital. He was heavy, but he was skinny for her age. She could manage.

"Mel, let me–"

"No!" She yelled. She was _not_ going to let this… this... _monster_ do any more damage than he already had. "Leave!" She ordered. I want you to _leave_!"

She didn't know this man. This drunkard who had almost taken everything she cared about away from her. She wanted her Raph back. Not the man wearing his face.

She took Scott out to her car and carefully laid him down in her back seat without looking back.

She made it to the hospital in record time. Scott had begun to stir, and his moans of pain made her heart ache.

She got him inside and into the X-ray room, where her suspicions of his injuries were confirmed. They wrapped his arm in a cast, but it in a sling to keep the weight off his collarbone, and gave him some mild painkillers for the ribs.

John and Stiles Stilinski were called. Melissa wasn't quite sure if she wanted to press charges or not, but she couldn't stand being alone in a hospital room with her injured eleven year old son who didn't understand why his dad wasn't there or coming back. She didn't tell him that Raphael had been drunk, or even that he had been home. She just told him he fell down the stairs and scared her to death.

Stiles seemed to get a bit more of the story. He read into Melissa's hesitations and tones of voice. He looked at Scott in the bed, who asked yet again what happened to him. When Melissa said he fell down the stairs, it clicked. Stiles knew what happened, but it was a secret he was going to take to his grave. He understood that, for whatever reason, Melissa did not want her son to hate his own father. Not for that, anyway.

And though it was difficult to lie when Scott asked why his dad wasn't coming back, like some scared little kid, Stiles never actually told him the truth. If Scott needed to know, Melissa would have told him.

It was hard to see the hatred for his father twists Scott's heart, though. Stiles understood why Melissa tried so hard to keep Scott from hating his own dad.

They became even closer after that. They were like a little dysfunctional family. There was a mom, a dad, and two kids, but they didn't live in the same house, or the same neighborhood. And their parents weren't together.

But it was _their_ family. And it was perfect.

_~qtp~_

That night in the woods was where things got complicated.

But come _on_. It was a half a dead body! How cool is that? It's not like you can just _not_ go look for half a dead body when you hear there's only _half_ a dead body missing.

Stiles picked up Scott, the drive to the place mentioned on the phone when his dad got the call, and went to search in the woods.

Scott was complaining the whole time. "Why can't we do normal things? Like watch movies, or play video games, or get a good night sleep so we have a shot at playing first string this year?"

Stiles laughed at that one. "Yeah, right. We didn't get on the field _once_ last year. What makes you think this year is going to be any different?" He asked.

Scott gasped and shook his inhaler. "Shouldn't the severe asthmatic be the one holding the flashlight?" He asked, bringing the medicine to his lips.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "See? That's my point. You can't even walk in the woods without needing that thing."

He cocked his head as he heard voices. "Let's go!" He said, running toward them.

"Stiles wait!" Scott yelled, being left behind.

The dogs barked, people yelled, and flashlights shone. Through all the commotion, Stiles heard his dad.

"Wait. This delinquent belongs to me," Sheriff Stilinski said, going over to grab his son by the arm and dragging him to his car.

Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to circle around and get Scott. His dad would be watching. But it wasn't a long walk. Scott could get home just fine.

Of course, then he had to go and get himself turned into a werewolf.

**Alrighty! This is a good prequel to my other fic that's coming up eventually. Let me know what you thought! Love you all!**

**~Nikki**


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